


Afterward

by ninamazing



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-21
Updated: 2009-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamazing/pseuds/ninamazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Viviane, now a wisp of smoke in her mind, played the damsel with frightening alacrity.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterward

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the _Seeker_ Kinkfest](http://community.livejournal.com/sword_of_lies/13883.html) because it is OSSUM. Originally posted [there](http://community.livejournal.com/sword_of_lies/13883.html?thread=543803#t543803).

It is awkward, waking up in a stone crypt with their garments half off. Richard crawls over to her, and the confusion and shame in his eyes is at least half of what she feels. This is why she loves him.

Kahlan leans back against the wall and closes her eyes for a moment. It doesn't help; the stale air brushes even more warmly against her exposed skin, skating across the bodice of her underdress and over her bare legs like the lapping of a warm ocean wave. The steel of her blade digs into her thigh, reminding her that she should be out on her Seeker's mission instead of locked underground playing the damsel.

Viviane, now a wisp of smoke in her mind, played the damsel with frightening alacrity.

"Kahlan?" Richard says, and his thumb at her cheek is pure fire. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes flash open and he jumps back, repentant. She's gradually turned him into a mirror of herself: a warrior who turns off his emotions, a man who is afraid of love.

"Sorry," she says, and reaches out for his hand. "Sorry. I just — I'm disoriented."

"I understand," he tells her softly. She doesn't dare look at his eyes. He always does try so hard, to understand.

Kahlan lets herself move her hand, palm and fingers alight on the tiny hairs of his arm; his muscles are alive and true underneath hers, and the short breath he lets out is very warm indeed. Even with different souls, touch between their bodies was electric — she wishes she didn't remember, maybe, because it won't make things easier, but things weren't getting easier before and all Kahlan wants to do is melt into the flow of this stream. Let it wash over her, for a few moments. They just got so close and they didn't die. They could get close again.

She pulls him, and he comes, into the circle of her legs. His knee nudges the knife in her garter and she gasps just before they're kissing, again, hands everywhere on each other to feel and taste and gather the intoxicating fusion of their sweat. Richard's tongue searches her mouth like it's a lover with a mind of its own; Kahlan closes her eyes, tightly, against the press of the outside world and remembers that she isn't Viviane and he isn't the twisted Seeker who shoved her against a wall — this is _Richard_ , kissing her like this. This is Richard, whose hands are running up her sides like he could hold her there forever, safe by his side and in his arms. This is Richard, who is leaning forward and arching to make it easier for her to drag her fingers across his chest and dig her thumbs into his belt. They want. And they can't take, can't take everything, but they can do this.

It might be necessary, anyway, to finish off the enchantment, she thinks to herself as Richard drops to her neck and she tangles one hand in the scruff at the back of his neck. It's possible this is just residual energy, the last remaining magic, and Richard's searching hand on her thigh — sliding under her knife and closer, _closer_ , higher up on her body — is what both of them need to say goodbye to this strange spell.

She'll keep him safe, she thinks, tucking her legs around his body, tugging him in. Just a little longer.

Belonging to each other, and to a quest, is an intoxicating thing when Seeker and Confessor meet like this, and Kahlan's heart beats in her chest as it never has before and somehow the travel musk they've collected is twining in the air between them to become something more. She takes his head between her hands and kisses him again, like she's breathing, drinking. He presses into her like she's the blessed forest path he knows how to read, like she's the ground beneath his feet and he can't afford to lose her.

They have to stop. She knows, and Zedd's footsteps will be clomping in any second.

"Richard," she whispers. "We can't." She hates sounding desperate. She hates that there's something she can't do.

"I know," he says, and smooths the hair back from her face, smiles into her eyes like none of this has made him afraid. He kisses her quickly, with finality, and kisses her again on the nose like he's _trying_ to make her lose her resolve.

"I won't," he tells her. "I know. Don't worry."

 _Don't worry_ is not the thought that first sprung to mind, she thinks, as he wraps her cloak back around her and she hands him his sword. But it'll do.


End file.
